


when the daylight fades

by dhils



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Sharing a Bed, a summery vacay fic in winter!, yessir im desperate for sunshine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/pseuds/dhils
Summary: When Noah comes back up, all he can taste on his lips is salt. It’s kind of gross, but Matt’s soaking wet too, so he wonders—wonders if Matt’s mouth tastes like the ocean.





	when the daylight fades

**Author's Note:**

> the calgary fireboys are fools but they're canada's fools and as a depressed canadian hockey fan this is how i cope with the cold now
> 
> can't wait to write christmas fics in july🤩!!

Matt texts him, near the end of June, and it’s nothing more than a request. An invitation. It’s sweet, and friendly, and Matt’s asking him to go to fucking Hawaii with him, so that’s great all on its own.

Except, Noah texts back. Because secretly, he isn’t a dumbass and he responds to texts from Matt without making him wait days and days, and he tells Matt _yeah_. Because they’re casual. 

It’s just Matt, too. He doesn’t even mention anyone else tagging along. They’re alone on this one. Noah knows it, but he still agrees. It’s all of that and he’s got this quiet curl of anxiety in his stomach, but he still accepts because they’re like that. Noah’s a friend. 

So, that’s all it is. That’s how it starts. 

 

 

When Noah’s looking out the window on the plane, he’s got an earbud in one ear and the other is in Matt’s who stupidly left behind his headphones, since last minute packing is a sport he practices religiously. And the second Noah made him a gross kale smoothie for breakfast he kind of just assumed the role of the responsible one in this relationship. 

Their relationship as in _friends_.

He's watching blue water kiss beach shores and the quick dip of the plane sends it all vanishing behind them, just barely concealed by the plane’s wing when Noah tries catching a glimpse. It’s still a little hard to believe this is where he is, on a cute little rock in the middle of the ocean with Matt by his side.

Matt who sleeps on airplanes like they’re makeshift beds, the side of his head tipped into his seat with a single earbud just barely in his ear. Noah doesn’t stare. He doesn’t try to, because staring isn’t buddies. 

But anybody, any passerby, would notice the way Matt’s hair is way outgrown, spiralling into messy curls that haven’t been touched since they woke up early, early, early for their flight. It’s all falling over his face and the ray of sunlight that hits his features is squared, catching just enough to make Noah wish he didn’t have to see him like this. 

It’s hard to tear his eyes away. All that really convinces Noah to keep looking out the window is the thought of anybody else seeing him. Seeing just the way he looks at Matt and _knowing_. That makes his stomach clench up. 

This isn’t going to be that kind of trip. Noah isn’t going to find himself or confess some irrelevant feelings with a grand gesture that involves, like, organic coconut water. This is just them. Matt and Noah, Noah and Matt, and they’ve left the whole world behind them. 

Noah can forget.

 

 

Matt speaks to the woman at the front desk of their hotel with little hand gestures and tired smiles. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, shoulders slumped over, his eyes drooping, and sweatpants rolled up unevenly, but Noah knows for a fact Matt slept through that entire flight. Everytime he glanced over he got to see it, Matt’s soft expression touched by sleep’s gentle hand, the dark lashes against soft skin, and what the _fuck_ kind of game is he playing.

“There’s gonna be this sick ass view,” Matt tells him, holding out his hands like he’s trying to symbolize a window, and all Noah can say is he’s definitely trying. “Like, an instagram worthy view. The good shit. Right from our room. How’s that sound?”

There’s a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, but he still knocks his arm against Noah’s because he’s a good sport, and Noah’s trying not to think about the way his heart jumps a little at ‘ _our_ room.’

He tries not to wonder, while Matt’s fucking around with the keycard and trying to get into their room, if the lady at the front desk thought they were a thing, instead of just together on a trip. With how close they were standing, how Matt would reach for him whenever he wanted and Noah’d be right there. But he doesn’t think she recognized them, her face staying perfectly stoned over the whole time Matt was blabbering to her.

There’s still that chance that they won’t get recognized, because seriously. Hockey and tropical islands don’t seem like the best match and Noah has never been more grateful for anything in his life. 

When the door opens, they’re greeted with a tiny kitchen and something that looks like it’s trying its best to resemble a living room but it’s just a small couch with _way_ too big of a TV across it. Then there’s the beds. Two. Decked out in soft sheets and Noah’s legs _ache_ with the need to pass out on one of those. 

Calgary to Hawaii isn’t an easy journey, he’s earned it. He takes ownership of a bed and flops down without the least bit of grace. It’s fucking great.

But then Matt’s jerking open the curtains, making excited little sounds at the sight of the beach in the distance, and Noah offers up a little smile. He’s too tired for anything else. Matt seemed too tired, but the view’s got him grinning like a child, so maybe that was temporary. 

“We should drink mimosas on the beach,” Matt says. “Like divorced middle aged women, oh my god, Noah we _gotta_.”

“Is that really your idea of a dream vacation.” When Noah sits up, Matt’s looking at him. It’s just polite, yeah, but he’s got a view and a half behind him and he’s looking away from it. The attention makes Noah’s heart catch in his throat, choking him, it’s still a lot to take. All of that. 

“Maybe,” Matt says lightly. “We’re gonna make everyone else mad jealous. I know for a fact it’s probably already snowing in Calgary but we’ve got a beach. And blue ass water, Noah, look at that water.” 

He’s gesturing excitedly at the window and Noah scoffs. “I’ve lived in Calgary for, like, a season and I’m pretty sure snow in June isn’t actually possible. Not even there.”

“Two words: global warming,” Matt counts them off on his hand, thumb and index finger. “Two more words: Let’s go—out.”

“That wasn’t two words.”

“You get the point.”

“Did you never learn math, or? You were one of the kids that failed finger painting in preschool, huh.” Noah tries frowning at him, even if he can feel the corners of his lips curling up. 

 

 

“Fuck, if I got alcohol poisoning on this beach,” Matt’s saying, staring up at the sky. “This one only though, all the white sand and seashells and shit, I wouldn’t even be angry.” 

They’re both lying on towels, Noah’s got the sunscreen situation covered but he’s definitely burning up and that’s not gonna blow over well for him. Despite all the talk of fancy drinks with umbrellas and shit, Matt’s got a can of beer pressed to his hip, condensation curving around the outside. 

“You’re on your second beer, you’re not gonna get alcohol poisoning,” Noah tells him, trying to go for straight-faced, but when Matt sits up and looks down at him with something affronted, it’s difficult. 

“I’m not even worthy, this entire island is too good for me.” Matt blows out a laugh. “Like, are you seeing this, we’re really here.”

“Have you never been to a beach before.” Noah raises his brows at him, because yeah, it’s nice and all, but everyone’s been to Hawaii. They’re professional athletes, it’s not like migrating to beaches and private islands every chance they get isn’t on their to-do lists. 

“Not with you, fucker,” Matt says, and lightly shoves Noah. He keeps his hand on Noah’s shoulder, glued to his skin like its stuck, and glances out over the water. “I wanna go for a dip. Come with.”

That gets his mouth to quirk up. “Yeah,” he says, and sits up, trying not to feel bad when the hand on his shoulder slips away. “Yeah, I’ll come with.” 

 

 

They’re in the water for what feels like ages, and it’s good. Like, really good. Matt’s so happy he’s glowing, a smile on his face all throughout, even when Noah flings some seaweed at him. It clings to his cheek and sticks to his face, which gets Matt to let out an indignant squawk as he tries batting it off.

Matt still gets back, viciously pulling him down under. 

When Noah comes back up, all he can taste on his lips is salt. It’s kind of gross, but Matt’s soaking wet too, so he wonders—wonders if Matt’s mouth tastes like the ocean. 

He's looking at Noah through lowered lashes when he slumps down on the sand by the shoreline, his breaths coming out rapid and heavy, chest heaving. He’s still blowing out little laughs.

Part of him knows Matt sees him looking. Like when Matt falls back and the lines of his hips are ever prominent, dipping beneath the waistband of his boardies like it’s nothing. And Noah just—Noah cant help it. There’s something in the back of his head that won’t let him look away, calling him.

He just doesn’t want to be drawn in. Not when they’re perfectly fine as buddies, and Noah isn’t willing to ruin this vacation just because he can’t keep it in his fucking pants. That’s just how this’ll be and it’s how it’s always been.

 

 

They make sandcastles.

That next morning, after they both wake up hungover and the digits of the clock in their room reads 6:15 AM, they trek right down to the beach and make sandcastles.

It’s mostly Matt’s idea. It’s always Matt’s idea, because Noah’s never been all that good at telling him no. Plus, seeing him this content with morning pinks and vivid oranges dripping over his skin is perfect. Noah doesn’t let his gaze linger, he’s subdued this enough that even when Matt’s wearing a button down that _definitely_ isn’t buttoned, Noah can focus on just decorating their castle with shells. 

It’s all precision, making sure the sand is sticky enough, trying to collect white shells that won’t send it crumbling to the ground, but it’s easier with inspiration. 

Like, Noah won’t say it, but the stars in Matt’s eyes are enough of a motivator all on their own.

They always are. During games, workouts, sand castle building—Noah could tell himself he’s not way deep into this, but he crossed that bridge long enough ago that he’d know for a fact it’s a lie. And Noah Hanifin is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.

“Sorry if waking up at the ass crack of dawn isn’t your thing, I just really wanted to hang with you. And I haven’t done this since I was literally thirteen,” Matt tells him, carving designs into the side of their castle with a stick. 

“Don’t worry, I couldn’t sleep anyways,” Noah tells him, offering him a sheepish smile.

White lies don’t count as lies. They don’t.

 

 

Matt’s hair is wet and curling, sticking to his forehead. He’s got stupid fucking daisy shaped sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose, and Noah‘s not sure why he’s so entranced by him. Why he’s always so caught up.

They picked the glasses up at a local gift store for whatever reason, even if Noah knows for a fact that they’re the tackiest things in the world, but Matt looks. Happy. Really, really happy. So Noah keeps his mouth shut and lets him live out his dream of wearing flowery glasses. 

He pushes his sunglasses up so they’re resting comfortably on the top of his head, and gives Noah this look like _yeah, I did that_. 

Noah rolls his eyes. “You’re not cool.”

“I am, too.” He’s got the faintest tan line across his nose from the glasses, where small speckles of sun spots are scattered across his skin. Noah wants to reach for him and touch, as if he could feel them beneath his fingertips.

Matt grabs his elbow, and Noah can feel the roll of his bones underneath his hand, skin warm and heated. “Found a cool dinner place on Yelp, they make your food in front of you. It’s like—this whole thing. We gotta go.”

Noah feels his smile go soft and he reaches out to pat Matt’s hand. “We’re going. Don’t worry. A diet of seawater isn’t really doing us any favours. Liquified french fries, basically.” 

“All that salt,” Matt says. “But you’re still the sweetest.”

The tips of Noah’s ears burn up. He thinks he might really be bright red, but there’s that giant ball of fire in the sky backing him up. It hasn’t been causing him any problems, not really, even if Noah’s still pinning this shit on it. 

He swallows. He can do this. 

 

 

Matt’s breath fans out over the skin of his neck when they’re pressed together on the couch, angled just so they can see the TV and Noah can drown out all his invasive thoughts of Matt this close to him out of his head. 

His hair still smells like the ocean, sending memories of seeing Matt in aquamarine waters to the back of his head. Noah wonders if it’s obvious just how content he is with how they’re sitting. He’s wondering if Matt knows more than Noah thinks he does, and shakes that off like glitter because it’s a lot harder to get over when he’s thinking about it. Like, really thinking about it.

“We should go out,” Matt says, his hand migrating to Noah’s leg. It’s a little higher than his knee, which. Is a lot. “To the beach.”

“Now?” 

Their curtains are shut, but Noah can see the darkness through the pale white cloth. It’s way past dusk.

Matt grins at him. “C’mon, scared of the dark?” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Noah says. “Lead the way.”

 

 

Noah keeps his fingers light when they dance across the soft line still on Matt’s nose. It’s faded, but his refusal to properly apply sunscreen and keep on wearing those glasses aren’t doing it much justice. 

Matt blinks at him, the moon in his eyes pooling like gold and ocean water kissing his toes. He’s a work of art and beneath starlight he’s gorgeous. 

“What,” Matt says— _breathes_ —his words soft and careful and Noah’s stomach twists with just how badly he wants. Matt never reaches up to stop him, and Noah doesn’t know why he doesn’t stop, why it’s so hard to keep away from all of Matt’s edges. 

“I thought you had something on your nose,” Noah tells him, drawing his hand back, even if Matt looks at him skeptically. His mouth twists.

“That’s my face, fucker,” he scowls, and playfully shoves at Noah until he gets him into the water, which is _freezing_ , but having Matt with him is nice. Even if he can see practically nothing. 

Noah opens his mouth to say something and Matt splashes him with water quick enough to get the bitter taste heavy on his tongue.

So, like.

“You’re _on_ ,” Noah says.

 

 

The crackling of a bonfire has always been one of Noah’s favourite sounds, coupled with the sweetness of marshmallows on his tongue and Matt’s laughter pressing into his shoulder. It’s everything. Just watching sparks flare and soar. 

He turns his head. The fire’s there, flickering oranges splattered across Matt’s face and in his eyes. “This is incredible,” Matt says, the marshmallow he’s got balanced on a cracker melting on his fingers. 

Noah leans into him, and Matt lets it happen, humming when he says, “we fucking deserve it.”

“Hockey diets should be outlawed. What kind of masochists restrict themselves from sugar. For a whole season, too, 82 miserable, miserable games.” Matt punctuates that by taking another bite of his s’more, making a disapproving face at seemingly nothing.

“It’s insulting,” Noah tells him. “And we’re just as bad as everyone else.”

“Fuck that,” Matt says. “I’m gonna eat an entire bag of marshmallows right here. Down?” 

Noah raises his brows. “An entire bag. Is that supposed to be a statement?”

“C’mon Hanifin, you’re either full sending or you’re going home. Pick one.”

Noah drags their box of graham crackers just a little closer and watches the determination on Matt’s face melt into a soft grin. “I’m in.” 

 

 

The gift shop they stumble into looks entirely like a tourist trap, decked out with unfunny postcards, awful shirts, and fridge magnets for their fridge which—from what Noah can recall, is stacked with 4 ketchup bottles and an empty bag of lettuce. So, hey, they can pretty it up from the outside at least. 

Matt’s got his heart set on this tacky car dashboard ornament, it’s just a flower with a ukulele swaying back and forth, and Noah’s pretty sure Matt’s fallen head over heels for the thing. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re really considering buying that,” Noah says, while Matt is _clearly_ considering it, looking like he’s running all the possible chirp scenarios through this head. Like, if he actually bought it. Which he should not. ”Johnny would tear you to shreds if you gave him a single ride in your car.”

Matt raises his brows at the ornament, cradling it carefully it his hand. His eyes are following the swaying. “It kind of looks like Johnny though, doesn’t it? Johnny’s a little shorter than this guy, but we’re looking at the big picture.”

“I’m telling.” 

“And I’m telling _you_ I’d survive buying this,” Matt insists, firmly setting his shoulders. He’d look bold if he wasn’t holding a ukulele playing flower in his hand. “I mean, if my friends care about me enough that they won’t bully me for the love of my life.”

“Not moving too fast on that?” Noah asks, and Matt walks right up to the front desk to buy his dumb flower. 

“Nope. Jealous?”

Noah scoffs. “Yeah,” he says. “Always.”

 

 

It’s the night before their flight back when rain starts battering against their hotel, harsh and heavy, pouring down hard. It’s a little terrifying, having that clear view of the water. It’s stirring, like the rain itself upset it, as if it’s fighting the clouds with crushing waves.

Noah can hear Matt playing something on his phone behind him, the voices sounding like nothing more than a low buzz.

 _Tap, tap, tap,_ the rain goes. In quick intervals, frustrated, coming from all over. 

Noah frowns. 

“Still psyched out by thunderstorms?” Matt asks, curled up in a blanket on the couch. Noah can see his smile, that glint of cheekiness in the way his mouth curls. 

It’s been over years and years of practice that Noah’s finally gotten used to Matt enough that he can read emotions off his face. He’s not an open book, not ever, but there are those hints—tendrils of the full thing, and Noah can clutch to those just enough that he can get through to enough of Matt. Enough. 

Matt’s not the type to wear his heart on his sleeve and his emotions don’t come anywhere close either.

“I just think they’re cool,” Noah admits, and pulls away from the window just to jerk the curtains closed. It’s better when they’re drawn. He can pretend everything outside these four walls is just perfect.

“ _Cool_ , okay, sure,” Matt says, and pats the spot next to him. He’s ushering him over, it becomes clear enough when he says, “pick a movie. You gotta relax.” 

And Noah does. He gets to cuddle up next to Matt and forget, which. That’s been the point of this whole trip, forgetting. But somehow, it doesn’t feel quite right.

Not when Matt’s got an arm around him, or as he’s laughing next to him, or when Noah looks over and sees the sheer joy radiating from him. 

It hits him like a truck, when Noah realizes he doesn’t want to forget.

 

 

“Mechanical issues,” Matt mumbles, typing something out on his phone. Noah watches as a green text bubble pops up, and then the screen fades to black. “Our flight’s delayed because of _mechanical_ issues. What does that even mean.”

Noah scoffs. They’re already in a cab, headed to their assigned hotel. It’s a little odd, checking out of their room just to head down to the airport and get turned away to yet another hotel. Funny, actually. Noah thinks he could laugh about it if he wasn’t so goddamn tired. 

“Seriously,” Matt goes on, glancing up at Noah before pocketing his phone. “And now what, they’re gonna hole us up in some motel? Gross?” 

“Maybe it won’t have bed bugs,” Noah offers. That would be the bright side of getting banished to a motel, at least.

“If that’s our highest hope, we’ve got some problems, you know.” Matt’s tongue is prodding at his bottom lip in that way that drives Noah fucking crazy, and he’s gotta look away because. Fuck. 

Hopefully, it isn’t obvious. Noah’s anything but subtle, and when Matt catches his eyes he just blurts a quick, “yeah, true.” His attention falls to the window, and the rest of the drive is filled in by the occasional noise of Matt showing him a video on his phone. And everything is fine. It’s just fine.

 

 

Noah regrets walking into their room first. He regrets being the one to take their keycard, the one to talk to the guy at the front desk, the one to let himself in because Matt was making wide eyes at the oddly pristine condition of the hotel. 

Noah regrets a lot of things, actually. It’s really hard to forget that when the first thing his eyes land on is the bed in the middle of the room, the _one_ bed. Like, not two beds, not three, but one. And if Noah counted to one using people in the room, he wouldn’t get very far.

“Fuck you, move your legs,” Matt grumbles, when he bumps right into Noah at the entrance. He puts a hand on Noah’s shoulder while squeezing passed, and Noah lets him go.

But he does say, “hey, no, they gave us, uh, they gave us the wrong room. I don’t think—I should’ve mentioned wanting two beds or something. This is my fault.”

Matt blinks at the bed, then back at Noah. He doesn’t say anything. Not until the briefest beat passes and, “I don’t care, man. Do you really wanna go back down there and move all our shit just to get another room?”

“I mean,” Noah says, “I don’t know.”

“I won’t make a big deal out of it if you don’t.” He drops his bag by the couch and it makes a tiny sound as it hits the ground. “Unless it _is_ a big deal.”

“No, no, it’s whatever,” Noah sputters, hoping he doesn’t sound desperate. Or, at the very least, eager. He just wants to get away. Take a minute to himself. “‘m gonna shower, and then probably crash. That cool?” 

Matt flashes him a little thumbs up and starts flicking through his phone as he crashes against what Noah assumes is his side of the bed. 

Which works. Noah probably wouldn’t be able to handle anything else. 

 

 

Noah’s seen it all. He’s been through every awful situation he could possibly go through while rooming with Matt. Like, seeing him change and having to focus his gaze on something else, or listening to the shower run while Matt’s in the bathroom and feeling his stomach curl, or trying not to look at his hair, his hands, his _mouth_. It’s all packaged up into a neat little gift box for Noah to avoid tinkering with. Ever.

He’s been through all of that before, and this is just that but worse. That, but opening up that gift box all at once. With one fucking bed. 

Noah’s got his eyes glued to the wall while he’s getting ready for bed, and he usually sleeps shirtless but he’s got a thin thing pulled on just in case. Just for his own sake. 

When he gets out of the bathroom, Matt’s in bed. He’s buried far enough underneath sheets that Noah can’t see much lower than his chest, but—he’s not wearing a shirt. Which.

It’s warm in here, and Noah gets that, but did he really have to do this _now_ , when Noah’s head is already spinning and he’s fighting back every urge biting at him, everything picking away his willpower. 

“I’m gonna crash in a minute,” Matt says, holding his phone up, “lemme know if this is annoying, I’ll put it away.”

“No problem,” Noah says, voice coming through just slightly strained.

Matt smiles at him like everything is absolutely fine.

 

 

When Noah gets into bed, he’s trying with every ounce of his strength to just stay on his side without making it look obvious that he’s tip-toeing around the whole, like, contact thing. He’s not sure if he’d ever be able to survive if they even brushed each other, terrified of Matt pulling back, or making things weird, or just—going too far.

He turns over, away from Matt and blows out a little breath that’s probably supposed to be him trying to filter out the stress, but it makes him a lot more worried. 

“You always sleep so early,” Matt comments, and it’s followed by the click of a lamp. “I just set an alarm for, like, seven. Because Yelp says the breakfasts at this place are banger and I don’t wanna miss out.” 

“You and Yelp, I swear.” Noah turns to stare up at the ceiling, even if everything is just a mix of darkness, tinted by the pale white light crawling in through their curtains. He can’t see much, but when he glances over he can see Matt’s eyes trained on him and that’s enough looking for one night. 

“You know it,” Matt says. “Get some sleep, you’ll need it.” He shoves Noah a little and it’s light, playful, but Noah nearly jumps at it. 

He bites his tongue. “It’s called beauty sleep for a reason,” Noah says, trying to keep his voice even. “Not familiar with it?”

“Don’t be mad I’m already perfect.” When Matt buries himself under the covers, his foot touches Noah’s ankle and he doesn’t even flinch, even if Noah can feel his pulse spike.

He laughs, tries to keep it from getting stuttery. “You keep telling yourself that, yeah? G’night, shitface.”

Matt _aw’s_ at him. “You’re the sweetest.” Noah can practically hear the smile in his voice and something about that makes his chest tighten up. He feels warm all over. “Sweet dreams, fucker.” 

 

 

Noah can fall asleep counting Matt’s breaths, all until they even out into an easy pattern, when they fall just a tad softer and Noah knows he’s asleep.

He’s not sure when it happens, when he drifts off, but he’s glad he does. As long as he doesn’t have to spend another sleepless night here, he’s happy.

 

 

Noah wakes up without the alarm.

For a second, he thinks it _is_ because of the alarm, but there’s a family with kids out in the hallway and he can’t really hit snooze on that. Despite just how loud the children are. 

The room is lit a little brighter than it had been last night, to the point where Noah can actually make out the shapes and colours of things. 

Matt’s got his arms tucked underneath his pillow and his face is perfectly peaceful. Like there’s nothing wrong with the world. Like, here, nothing could hit the fan.

His hair’s a mess, curls splaying out against the pillowcase, but Noah’s always liked it like that. Untamed and tousled, softening up everything else. He’s beautiful. Noah’s known it for so, so long, but it’s in his face now. Matt’s fucking gorgeous, and he doesn’t want to admit it to himself but it’s here. _He’s_ here. 

Noah’s still facing him when he builds up the courage to touch the faint splatter of freckles across his shoulders, sunspots left by hours on the beach. Noah can see the evidence of their trip and he wants to touch, his thumb light as a feather as it ghosts his shoulder. 

When he pulls back, he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. He’s fucking enchanted by Matt, by all of him, and he’s not sure if he knows how to let that go. If he can let this go in the first place, these feelings that keep popping up at the worst times. These feelings that he knows are just so, so clear to both of them.

He just can’t hide it. It’s difficult, when the need he has for one of his closest friends pops up constantly, over and over, plaguing his head like a disease.

It’s Matt. It’s always been Matt. And he can’t leave that behind.

 

 

He wakes up again to Matt’s eyes, which really are bright enough that Noah could stargaze in them and he’d never even know the difference. 

There’s no alarm, no sounds of kids crying, just Matt’s easy smile and the light in their room. The light from the lamp. It smatters everything with yellow hues.

“Morning,” he says, “woke up before the alarm so I turned it off.” 

“That’s good,” Noah says, yawning into his hand. “I don’t like waking up to your phone trying to imitate police sirens anyways.

“It keeps me on my toes,” Matt argues, and he’s propped up on an elbow, so he falls right back against the bed with a little thump. “And I’m too tired to leave.”

“Breakfast?”

“Let me rephrase that.” Matt glances up at the ceiling, then right back at Noah. “I’m too tired. To leave,” he stresses.

“How was that rephrasing.”

“I made it sound more persuasive.” He cracks a grin right in Noah’s direction. “And I’m comfy.”

“Comfy is pushing it.” He’s dazed enough that he lets himself kick Matt under the blankets, who gasps like Noah’s just spat on his whole family name and then some. 

“You,” Matt starts. “You were totally comfy.” He sits up, and pulls his hands out from under the blanket. “I don’t snore, or kick, or steal sheets, and I definitely don’t talk in my sleep,” he says, counting it all off on his fingers. “That was the best sleep of your life, you’re just too ashamed to admit it.”

Noah should be focusing on his hands, he’s pretty sure. At least judging by the four fingers he’s holding up, four reasons to shut the fuck up. But Matt’s shirtless. And Noah’s eyes catch more on just how pretty he looks with white sheets pooling around his hips. Matt’s all golden skin and freckles, muscles that stretch over his arms and torso, and Noah—he’s a goner. 

“Um,” he sputters, and sits himself up on his elbows. “Yeah.“ He nearly forgets what he’s agreeing to, focused in on Matt and his. Everything. 

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Matt’s smiling as he kicks the sheets off, crawling out of bed. His sweats are hanging low on his hips, but he doesn’t reach for them.

Noah’s focus zeros in on the two dimples at the small of his back, and goddamn it—Matt. He tosses his gaze over his shoulder as he’s walking into the bathroom, but he doesn’t say anything. Just smiles.

Somehow, that makes this worse.

 

 

Matt doesn’t look tired at breakfast, just sleepy. He‘s chipper, but his eyes flicker shut every now and then, while he’s slicing up a waffle, or stirring his coffee, or listening to whatever Noah’s saying. 

It gets to the point where his immediate response to questions just becomes, “yeah, uhuh,” and Noah rolls his eyes everytime.

“Matt. Hey, _Matt_ ,” he prods, and nudges him under the table. The face Matt makes, the surprised eyes and the little quirk of his lips, it sends liquid confidence churning through his veins. “Didn’t get any sleep last night or what?” 

“No, I’m just—I thought we’d be home by now.” He scratches the back of his neck, and his eyes aren’t drooping anymore, just focused on the table. 

“Yeah? And?” 

Matt shrugs lazily. “That’s it.” 

“You didn’t get enough sleep,” Noah says, practically telling him, and Matt blinks at him. Not out of shock, but it’s slow, like he’s giving in. “Was it me? I know the bed was small, but.”

“No, that’s—no, you were fine,” Matt tells him, and mixes his coffee for, like, the twentieth time. “I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall back asleep thinking about, y’know. Shit.” 

Noah’s really intrigued. Although he’s not sure if he’s being messed with, if this is all one big tedious buildup to a punchline, because it wouldn’t be the first time. But. “What kind of shit,” Noah says.

“You really wanna know?”

“I mean.” Noah isn’t sure. That makes it sounds weird, like this is something Noah should be worried about. “Oh my god, wait, did you kill someone.”

Matt opens his mouth to say something, his brows pinched together, but he wipes that away like he’s erasing a whiteboard. His expression goes from exasperated to easy in seconds, and he breathes out a tiny chuckle. “You, you fucking dumbass, I was thinking about _you_. About us.” 

Noah lets out an incoherent, “huh?” He regrets it immediately afterwards because there was a window for him to say absolutely anything and he fucked that up, too. He could’ve gone with _apple_ and it still would’ve came out better. 

“I’m saying I liked this trip. I like. Being with you,” Matt tells him. “Like, in your company. I like making you laugh, and getting you to smile, and seeing you happy.”

“Matty, what—“

“And. You can say no, but I wanna do it more often. Not just when we’re on trips together.” His voice is just slightly shaky, like he’s trying to hold it in but the wavering tone still slips. It’s not obvious, but Noah’s listening for it. Just so he knows he’s not alone when it comes to being psyched out about this. Whatever this is. “Noah, I wanna _be_ with you. Really be with you. Like, fuck, I sound like a teenager. You know what I mean?”

Noah chuckles because he’s nervous. He chuckles because he’s so fucking relieved he doesn’t know what to say, isn’t sure how to conjure up the words to accurately describe what he’s feeling. He chuckles because Matt’s sitting here pouring his feelings out to him while Noah’s been trying to hold his own urges back. 

“Together,” Noah says, for clarification. “ _Together_ together.”

Matt nods, and the smallest hints of a smile tug up the corners of his lips. “ _Together_ together.”

“Yeah,” Noah says. “That’d be good. That—I’d like that.”

“Me, too,” Matt agrees, and waves his hand in some vague gesture. “I mean, obviously.” He pauses for a beat, and Noah pops a grape in his mouth. 

Matt swallows a breath, and looks up at the ceiling, the table, and then right back at Noah. “I wanna kiss you,” he says.

Noah nearly chokes.

“In our room, I mean,” he drops his voice, as if Hawaii is a hockey state. It’s the _farthest_ thing from a hockey state. Literally and figuratively. “There, I wanna kiss you

Noah nods his head and sets his fork down. “We should, uh, probably go right now. And pack.”

“Right,” Matt says, smiling. “We should do that.”

 

 

It goes like this: Noah gets to press Matt against the wall of their room and make out with him until his lips are buzzing and numb. He kisses Matt until he can trace the sharp red of his lips with his fingers, kiss swollen and pretty, and he’s gotta remind himself _he_ did that. 

Noah gets to kiss Matt and Matt kisses back, which is everything. It’s the highlight of this whole fucking trip. 

Noah gets to have Matt to himself and they almost miss their flight because of it. But it’s ‘almost’ for a reason, they still make it, and what’s life without the risk factor.

Which—Matt glances at him, smiles, and says, “we’re joining the mile high club.”


End file.
